


Transcendence

by Author_of_Kheios



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angels, Dragons, Drama, M/M, Magic AU, Other, What Have I Done, and a lot of emotional moments, but then i'd be spoiling a lot, fuck the tags, that's all you're getting, there could be a lot of tags for this, there's lots of teasing, this reads like a romantic drama, what is my life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:48:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22369735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Author_of_Kheios/pseuds/Author_of_Kheios
Summary: A librarian should never go to war. But this librarian may have a trick or two up his sleeve that even he isn't ready for.
Relationships: Angela "Mercy" Ziegler & Jean-Baptiste Augustin, Bastion & Ganymede (Overwatch), Bastion & Tekhartha Zenyatta, Bastion/Lúcio Correia dos Santos, Jean-Baptiste Augustin & Tekhartha Zenyatta, Jean-Baptiste Augustin/Bastion, Jean-Baptiste Augustin/Lúcio Correia dos Santos, Jesse McCree & Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Lena "Tracer" Oxton & Winston, Lúcio Correia dos Santos & Tekhartha Zenyatta, One-Sided Genji Shimada/Tekhartha Zenyatta, One-Sided Tekhartha Zenyatta/Tekhartha Mondatta, Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison
Comments: 8
Kudos: 29





	Transcendence

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo.... This started out as an excuse to write a dragon au titled How to Train Your Shimada. That isn't at all what it turned out to be. You could say it... _transcended its original title_. EEEYYYYY!!! Okay I'm done. XD
> 
> But seriously, the lore behind this just grabbed me by the throat and dragged me along for the ride. XDD And I may or may not add a short little epilogue later; we'll see. Anyway, enjoy dramatic romance or romantic drama or whatever this mess of messes is, and don't forget to kudos, comment, and subscribe~

“Do you believe in dragons?”

Zenyatta looks up from his book, already mildly annoyed. “Sir, this is a library. You come here to get books, not to harass the librarians.”

“I’ve been ‘harassing’ you for two months and you’re only just now calling me out?” The young man across the desk is grinning, a roguish expression in his whiskey amber eyes that melts away Zenyatta’s annoyance as easily as always.

“I have been polite for two months and you are only just now realising it has been an act?” he returns blandly, tucking his bookmark into place and setting the book aside. The young man ― Zenyatta only knows him as Sparrow, due to a humorous mistake that both laugh about but refuse to admit happened ― feins pain, clutching his chest theatrically.

“Oh! You wound me, sir!”

“I think your massive ego can handle a few blows,” Zenyatta scoffs, rolling his sky blue eyes toward their namesake. In spite of his best efforts, however, he can’t stop the smile quirking at his lips, and Sparrow notices.

“How rude,” he teases, leaning on the desk. “Aren’t you supposed to be kind to your customers?”

“Customers buy,” Zenyatta corrects. “You are not a customer.”

“Patron, then,” Sparrow dismisses with a wave of a hand. He flicks dyed green waves out of his face and shifts closer. “You haven’t answered my question, librarian.”

“Yes, I am only just now calling you out,” Zenyatta responds with as much solemnity as he can manage. Sparrow frowns for a moment, perplexed, and then he laughs, leaning back and holding the edge of the desk for support. “Please be quieter, sir; this is a library.”

“Oh gods, Zen!” Sparrow cackles, struggling to contain his mirth. “You’re killing me!”

“I will call 911 on my lunch break to remove your body from my lobby.”

“Zen, please!” Sparrow is struggling to breathe, and Zenyatta allows himself to smile, having mercy on the poor man. Wiping at the corners of his eyes, Sparrow takes a deep breath to calm down, but his grin remains even once he’s gathered himself. “Come on; it’s a serious question. Obviously you have magic in your blood, which is a rare thing itself...” He gestures at the nine orbs circling Zenyatta. “So? Do you believe in dragons too?”

“...I believe they once ruled the earth, in times long past,” Zenyatta answers carefully. “Whether any remain today is a mystery yet to be proven either way.”

"So you believe they  _ could _ still exist?"

"Perhaps," Zenyatta allows reluctantly, unsure where this is going. "After all, witches were hunted to extinction over 500 years ago, and yet today, people like myself still exist."

"Do you think any of the Shimada dragons still exist?" Sparrow leans close again, eyes aglow with excitement and curiosity.

"...I suppose... if any dragons exist, Shimadas would be among them," Zenyatta says slowly. A delighted, thoughtful look settles on the young man, and Zenyatta wonders what he's gotten himself into this time.

"Still harassing my employees, I see," a deeper, kindly voice hums warmly, interrupting the moment. Sparrow turns, and Zenyatta peeks around him, already smiling before he meets the softer blue gaze of his boss.

"Good morning, Mondatta!" Zenyatta greets cheerfully, sitting up a little straighter and resisting the urge to fix hair too short to have gotten mussed in the past four hours.

"Good morning, Zen, Sparrow." The older man, Nepalese like Zenyatta, but far more regal, is wearing a neatly tailored suit today, and Zenyatta can't help but admire the way it hugs his strong, slender shoulders.

"Good morning, sir," Sparrow chirps, a picture of innocence now. "I know I should have waited for Zen's lunch break, but I had a question for him and I couldn't wait to ask it."

"You never can," Mondatta chuckles, rounding the desk. "You may go on your break, Zen. I will cover the lobby."

"Is Baptiste sick?" Zenyatta frowns, standing hesitantly.

"No; Bastion had an episode this morning, and both he and Lucio fear leaving him alone today."

"Oh no," Zenyatta clucked, shaking his head in sympathy. "If it is alright, I would like to go see them during my break."

"Of course," Mondatta nods. "It is your break to do with as you will. Give them my regards, and tell Baptiste I am considering this paid time off; I will handle his responsibilities until my meeting this afternoon."

"I will," Zenyatta assures, tucking his book into his bag and rounding the desk.

◁ ▷

A slender young man with thick dreads and soft darker skin opens the door of Baptiste’s side of the duplex when Zenyatta knocks, warm brown eyes hiding worry until they settle on Zenyatta’s features and light with relief.

“Zen! Ah, Jean called in, didn’t he?” He’s fidgety, twisting his hands and shifting his weight anxiously, and Zenyatta smiles gently.

“He did. I wanted to check in for myself.” He waves absently at the man behind him. “Lucio, this is Sparrow. He is lively, but trustworthy. May we?”

For a long moment, Lucio hesitates, glancing into the house and grimacing uneasily.

“I understand if you don’t want to involve a stranger,” Sparrow says with a rueful smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Zen?”

“Indubitably.” Sparrow turns to leave, and Lucio steps forward.

"Wait. Leo's sleeping anyway, I think; it should be fine." He still seems hesitant, but he steps out of the way, beckoning for them to enter. "Come on in."

Both Zenyatta and Sparrow bow slightly in gratitude and go inside, removing their shoes at the door and following Lucio into the living room, where another man with shorter, darker hair and a different shade of dark skin sits on the couch with a lump stretching from his lap to the other end, wrapped in a thick comforter.

" _ Bonswa _ , Zen," he greets tiredly, temple resting on his fist. " _ Sak kap fet _ ?"

"I came to see how you all are doing, my friend," Zenyatta said softly, lowering to a knee beside the couch and reaching out. He pauses before he touches the blanket, glancing at the man for approval.

"He's been in and out," is the reply, half muffled in a yawn. "The flashbacks are bad today; he almost took off my arm."

"Is he responsive?"

"Not if you call him by his nickname."

"Leonides?" Zenyatta gently touches the lump, slowly nudging the blanket to expose the haggard face beneath. Vivid blue eyes, red-rimmed and puffed, open blearily. "Hey. It has been too long since we talked. How is Ganymede?"

The lump wiggles a little and a hand pokes out, finger-spelling.

G-R-E-E-D-Y. A-L-W-A-Y-S H-U-N-G-R-Y.

Zenyatta chuckles softly, patting the man's shoulder.

"Cats always are," he muses. "Catbirds even more so."

W-H-O H-E?

Leonides points over Zenyatta's shoulder and he glances back at Sparrow, who's waiting in quiet respect by the wall.

"A friend," Zenyatta smiles. "His name is Sparrow. Is it alright if he stays with me for now? I will be leaving soon." Leonides makes a soft whimpering sound and catches Zenyatta's wrist.

"How long can you stay?" the other man asks.

"I am here on break," Zenyatta answers. "Mondatta is covering your shift, and he said you will get paid time off for today."

"Tell him I said thank you," Baptiste says with a tired smile. "I'll be in tomorrow; Luc is taking Leo to Fiach for the day."

"To the hot springs?"

"Mm. We're hoping it'll help the scars like last time."

"Are they bad again?" Zenyatta looks to Leonides. "May I see?"

A moment passes, and then, ever so slowly, the lump shifts and sits up. Leonides timidly pushes the blanket away, revealing a thick, sturdy-built body clad only in boxers, leaving two large, jagged marks plainly visible; one cuts from hip bone to opposite shoulder, the other from the centre of his chest across the first and down all the way to mid-thigh. Both lines pulse a faint, ugly purple; clearly the result of dark magic.

Zenyatta croons sympathetically and reaches for one of his floating orbs. Whispering a keyword, he fills it with healing magic and releases it to attach to Leonides. A warm golden glow settles on the man's body, seeping into the wounds and easing the darkness. Leonides visibly relaxes with a sigh, and Baptise takes his hand, threading their fingers tightly together.

"Thank you, Zen," he says sincerely. "I know how much that can drain you."

"The health and safety of those around me," Zenyatta answers, "in body, mind and soul, is more important than something so trivial as my comfort."

"I forgot what kind of tea you like," Lucio says, rejoining them. Zenyatta hardly noticed his absence, but graciously accepts the offered mug. "Sorry if it's too sweet; I always give Leo extra honey and I was kinda on autopilot." He sheepishly hands a second to Sparrow and settles onto the couch beside Leonides, handing him a third mug and staring at the orb for a moment.

"I do not mind," Zenyatta assures pleasantly, sipping the unusually sweet tea. "I am glad to see you are all doing well, if a bit tired."

"Hahh, Leo isn't the only one struggling with nightmares lately," Baptiste grunts, rubbing absently at one eye.

"You saw the news yesterday?" Lucio says in explanation. "Looks like Russia and China are going to war again, and apparently Europe is siding with China."

"Politicians have been threatening war for years," Zenyatta frowns. "This will be the same cycle again; war is supposedly inevitable, someone pays off someone else, and everything is swept-"

Baptiste takes an opened envelope off the side table and holds it out, interrupting. Brow furrowed, Zenyatta takes it and removes the letter within.

A conscription notice.

"Leo got one too," Baptiste sighs. "Wasn't it enough that we were practically slaughtered to put down necromancers for almost a decade? And we were kids! How can they expect us to  _ not _ be traumatised in the first place?"

"Jean," Lucio cuts in sharply before he can really get going. Baptiste mutters an apology, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Sorry, we're all tired and angry, and it was just too much at once to handle."

"I see." Zenyatta considers for a moment, staring at the letter, and then stands, handing it back to Baptiste. "I will inform Mondatta of your situation; for now, I am certain he would agree with allowing you an indefinite leave until we come to a resolution. Please..." He raises his hands to stall protests. "The three of you need rest; Leonides especially. If you are amenable, I will return later this week to visit."

"You're always welcome here, Zen," Baptiste insists. "We would never have gotten this far without you."

Zenyatta nods once, sets his half emptied mug on the side table, and motions for Sparrow to join him, recalling his orb at the same time. Outside, they walk in silence for a long while before Sparrow finally speaks up.

"May I ask...?" He falters, clearly unsure how far he can push his curiosity without causing offense.

"His real name is Leonides Sol Ayala," Zenyatta explains without hesitation.

"Ayala?" Sparrow perks with interest. "Like, the clan of witch hunters?"

"Indeed. Leonides' family was at the forefront of the missions to eradicate magic-users over five hundred years ago, and even today, the children are taught many of the same techniques, nominally for their own safety, but in truth because the Ayalas believe that one day the world will someday remember that magic is abhorrent and immoral, and call on them once again to extinguish all sources of magic."

"Doesn't that make him your enemy?" Sparrow asks, cocking his head.

"No one is my enemy who has not earned it," Zenyatta says firmly, shaking his head. "Leonides is a victim of his birth, which no one can change. In the Necromancy War, Leonides and many of his family were placed on the front lines due to their genetic resistance to magic, especially necrosis. In the Battle of Rialto, all of the Ayalas present died, except for Leonides. He alone held the front line until reinforcements arrived and defeated the necromancers. His bravery saved countless lives, but his injuries were grave, and he was allowed to return home for the remainder of the war. He never fully recovered, but it seems even a war hero is not exempt from the petty whims of politicians playing chess with the lives of the people."

It's the first time Zenyatta has been so vocally bitter about anything, and for a moment Sparrow is speechless, which reminds Zenyatta to calm down.

"My apologies," he demures. "I let my anger get the best of me."

"Anger?" Sparrow scoffs, grinning faintly. "Is it even possible for you to get truly angry?" That brings a wry smile to Zenyatta's lips, and he glances appreciatively at the man for keeping his mood light.

"Truly angry is a sight to see, so let us hope not."

"Bah. You're the most peaceful person I know; I can't see you getting that angry at anything."

"For the sake of another, I certainly can," Zenyatta promises grimly. "And Leonides deserves better than this."

“So talk to someone about it,” Sparrow shrugs, tucking his hands into his pockets.

“I just might,” Zenyatta humphs.

For a moment, they walk in silence, and then Sparrow turns a sidelong grin on his companion.

“So... He’s  _ the _ Bastion, isn’t he? The one everyone talks about and will probably be in every child’s schoolbook in a few years?”

“Yes,” Zenyatta chuckles. “He is rather famous now, I suppose... I met him long before that war, when his family visited the monastery where I grew up, and we stayed in touch. I have never really considered him anything more than he is: a friend.”

“And... those other two...?” Sparrow asks carefully, like he doesn’t want to offend.

“They are in a...” Zenyatta pauses, trying to remember the word. “Polyamorous relationship? Of course I do not know the details, but they care very much for each other. I advocated for them when they first moved here, and assisted in finding work for Baptiste and Leonides.”

“Oh yeah, I meant to ask... The other one called him Jean?”

“Yes,” he smiles. “Very few are allowed to call him Jean; it is Jean-Baptiste, or simply Baptiste.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Sparrow chuckles. Then his humour fades to a sincere smile. “Thank you for letting me come with you.”

“I have never been one to hide aspects of my life from the curious,” Zenyatta shrugs. He quirks a sly smirk at his companion. “And you have been more than curious.”

Sparrow laughs, but doesn’t deny or correct him.

◁ ▷

"Pardon me." Zenyatta immediately looks up with a professional smile, taking in the stranger's appearance with a subtle sweep of his gaze.

If the accent hadn't given it away, the outfit would; although he had the decency to remove his hat before entering, the man wears an almost garish combination of American Western clothing, like the cowboys of old, and his hair and beard, though kempt, are longer than perhaps is necessary.

"How can I help you, sir?" Zenyatta asks politely, putting aside his bias.

"I'm, uh, new in town," the man explains. "Just wonderin' if I need a card to check stuff out like back home in the States."

"Yes; I can give you an application, if you'd like," Zenyatta offers, pulling from a stack to hand him one.

"Er... Why not? Much appreciated, sir."

Zenyatta watches him fill out the paper, distantly curious in the way all people are about a stranger nearby for any noticeable length of time. After returning the paper, the man ― Jesse McCree ― leans idly on the counter while Zenyatta checks that all the boxes are checked, so to speak.

"May I ask what brought you here?" he asks conversationally.

"Actually lookin' for books on dragons, if ya got any," Jesse answers. Zenyatta glances up, mildly amused for more than one reason.

"I meant to the city."

"Oh..." Jesse blushes faintly, a sight which endears him to Zenyatta. "Um... Work, I guess? Wish it was otherwise, but what can ya do, right?"

"Of course," Zenyatta hums, handing the American his new card. "Here you are, Mr. McCree. History books are in the nonfiction section over there, and mythology and lore books are between the nonfiction and the fantasy sections. If I may..." He makes sure he has the man's attention before continuing. "I have a regular who comes in every day and who has been asking me about dragons for the last few days. He should be here in an hour or so, if you care to wait...?"

"Sounds fine," Jesse grins, reaching up as though to tip his hat and then remembering it's in his other hand; he taps two fingers to his forehead in salute instead. An admirable recovery. "Thank y'kindly, sir."

Zenyatta watches him make a beeline for the history books and wonders absently if he's made a mistake.

When Sparrow arrives, Zenyatta is still keeping an eye on Jesse, though he can't say why, and apparently the young man notices.

"What hottie are you staring at now?" he chirps, leaning on the counter with a cheerful smile.

"I will have you know that I refuse to allow hotties into my library..."

" _ Your _ library?" he teases.

"... because books are highly flammable and I would rather be alone with my books than ogle a thousand hotties," Zenyatta continues primly, blatantly ignoring the tease. Sparrow clamps a hand over his mouth to prevent an outburst of laughter, and Zenyatta smiles his success.

"How dare you be so funny," Sparrow snickers, keeping his voice low. "Aren't librarians supposed to be strict and stern?"

"Says who?"

"Says every stereotype of librarians ever."

"When have I ever lived up to a stereotype?" Zenyatta cocks a brow at the man, who grins, unashamed. "And for your information, that man is interested in dragons. He has been browsing every dragon book we have for the past 45 minutes waiting for you."

"For me?" Sparrow's brows lift, intrigued and curious.

"Mm. I told him you would be here." Returning his attention to his book, Zenyatta waves the man off in a clear directive to go talk to the American. After shushing them for the fourth time in 15 minutes, he decides he most definitely has made a mistake.

◁ ▷

The woods outside the city get thick after an hour or so of walking, and there's a clearing by a large pond that makes for an excellent location to dispel magic without any potential for harm. Zenyatta loves the place; it is a wonderful area in which to practice his control and increase his skill. One day soon he will no longer suffer the adverse effects of pouring so much healing energy into a single focus.

Today, however, his visit is anything but peaceful.

Rage boils long before he reaches the clearing, and the moment he clears the tree line, he unleashes it, roaring at the sky as a burst of Discord explodes out from him. Grass withers, flowers shrivel, trees and bushes lose their leaves, and animals that once greeted him curiously now scatter, fleeing the danger. Even the water seems to have lost its life, and Zenyatta glares at it hard before thrusting his hand forward. A ghostly mimicry of the orbs surrounding him flies out from his palm and hits the surface, causing a geyser. It satisfies a part of the need for violence inside him and he does it again. And again. And again and again, until his magic is exhausted and he collapses, panting heavily and struggling even to keep his orbs afloat.

“Impressive, magician.” The low, rumbling voice sparks something primal in some deep part of Zenyatta’s brain, and fear-driven adrenaline gives him the strength to scramble to his feet, raising his hands and summoning a swirl of Discord in his palm.

The dark purple cluster vanishes in shock as he stares up into the vivid gold gaze of an emerald green dragon sitting calmly beside the pond and yet still towering nearly his height above him; large enough to ride, were he so brave.

“...A dragon...” he breathes, stunned.

“A human,” the dragon replies, almost sounding amused.

“You... are real...?” Instead of answering, the dragon raises a paw, making him flinch back in instinctive terror, and draws a single claw along its breast, scales clinking pleasantly.

“It would appear so,” the dragon hums. “Thank you ever so much for pointing it out; I would never have realised.”

“I must be dead,” Zenyatta mutters, shaking his head in disbelief. “I burned so much magic that I killed myself and now I am in some strange afterlife with sarcastic dragons.”

“I can’t be a hallucination?” the dragon chuckles, tail curling around its paws much in the way of a feline.

“Stop taunting me.”

“Taunt? I meant to tease.”

“I am in no mood.”

“So I see,” the dragon notes, glancing pointedly at their battered surroundings. “What made you so angry?” Zenyatta bites back a scoff, crossing his arms.

“Injustice.”

Silence falls for a moment, and then the dragon moves, startling Zenyatta into jumping back. Undaunted, the dragon merely lays down, settling in and waiting patiently.

“I have all day.”

Zenyatta doesn’t want to explain, but the bitter anger still lingers, and he finds himself speaking before he can stop himself. He tells the dragon about Lucio, Baptiste and Leonides, briefly speaks of the last’s history, and mentions that the latter two have been drafted unfairly for a foolish war. Then he explains how he managed to schedule meetings with several different authorities to try and persuade someone, anyone, to retract the conscription, and failed every single time.

“I hold so much magic,” he says quietly when he finishes, staring at his hands, “I have so many connections, and yet, when it matters most, I am powerless.”

“Are you really?” the dragon hums, large head resting placidly on its crossed paws. “Maybe you’ve simply lost belief in yourself and your capabilities.”

“If I cannot save one man from a fate he has already suffered and suffers over again every night, then what is there to believe in?”

“Yourself.” The dragon lifts its head, serious. “You have incredible magic talent, unlike any I’ve seen in all my years, and believe me, I have lived a very long time... If your prowess with healing is as impressive as your skill at destruction ― and we both can see that  _ is _ impressive ― then why can’t you go with your friends? Protect them in battle where you couldn’t protect them from it.”

“I am not a man of war,” Zenyatta growls, irritated again. “Bloodshed has never stopped evil, and it never will, but words can make a difference in the world.”

“Can words stop a bullet or a sword?” the dragon scoffs. “Can words bring the gravely wounded back from the brink of death? If you want to fight the politicians and the billionaires with your words, then go fight them. But if you want to protect your friends, then take up arms, because no government will ever care about individuals.”

“And what of you?” Zenyatta demands bitterly. “You intend to watch humanity destroy itself while you hide away, pretending not to exist in hopes that no one will hunt you down for your scales and your talons and whatever else they can take from your corpse?”

“I’ve fought in more battles than you could ever know, librarian,” the dragon rumbles warningly. “I am a Shimada, and I’ve lived five, ten, twenty times the life you’ve had. When  _ you _ have watched everyone you cared about slaughtered in front of you or grow old and die while you can do nothing,  _ then _ tell me that hiding away from the world is irresponsible. You have an opportunity to protect the ones you love and instead you’re calling me out for things you can’t possibly understand. Immortality is a curse, and one I have learned to bear in solitude.” Rising to its paws, it ruffles its wings in preparation to fly. “Already I regret investigating this explosion of power...”

Guilt and shame burns through Zenyatta and he quickly leaps up, raising his arms.

“Wait, please! I apologise; I did not mean... I should not have spoken in anger. I am frustrated and lost, and before today, I was not even sure dragons existed any longer.” He breathes a humourless laugh. “I am still convinced I burned out and none of this is real.”

“It’s very real,” the dragon says gently, lowering its head so that its eye is level with Zenyatta’s head. “You’re more powerful than you know, magician. You may be young, but the blood of ancients runs through you. One day you’ll come into your true power, and I’d bet my hide nothing will stop you then.”

◁ ▷

"Mondatta?" Zenyatta hovers uneasily in the door of the older man's room, watching him type up a letter to someone.

"Yes?" Mondatta glances up, and he must see something in Zenyatta's expression because then he turns his attention fully on Zenyatta, closing the laptop screen partway and leaning forward attentively. "What can I help you with, Zen?"

"...When you took me in all those years ago," Zenyatta begins hesitantly, unsure quite how to broach the topic. "I need to know... Where did you find me?"

"You have heard this story before," Mondatta points out with a smile.

"Tell me again," Zenyatta persists, desperation lending an edge of demand to his tone. He lowers his gaze and his voice. "Please."

For a moment, Mondatta merely watches him, taking in the uncharacteristic unease, the unusual fidgeting, the uncertain expression. Then he moves the laptop over and leans forward on the desk, hands folding neatly in front of him.

"I was in the courtyard," he says without preamble, "training one last time for the test to graduate from novitiate to monk. I finished a routine and turned to begin again. A bright light flared behind me, and when I turned back around, fearing some sort of attack, it was already fading, and a small, barefoot child in rags stood where I had just been moments before." He hesitates for a moment and then adds, "I may not know where you came from, Zen, but I still believe an angel gave you to me to remind me that there are more important things in the world than four bare walls and daily prayers."

"I... How can I know," Zenyatta asks slowly, feeling more lost than he can ever remember being, "who I am to be if I do not even know where I began?"

"You are every day becoming who you are to be," Mondatta says gently. "You hardly need to know where you began to continue going where you are headed. Only take care to watch your next step."

"My next step..." Zenyatta considers for a long, long time, long enough for Mondatta to pull his laptop back into place and lift the lid. Only when he goes to continue the letter does Zenyatta leave.

◁ ▷

Baptiste opens the door this time, dressed in his military uniform, minus the eyepiece that helps improve his gun aim, though he hardly needs it anyway.

"Hey, Zen," he smiles tiredly. "Come in; I'm just trying to get Leo to try on his uniform so we can make sure it still fits. I don't blame him for refusing..."

"I would love to come in and chat, but I came only to ask a question..." Zenyatta falters, and Baptiste stares in surprise.

"Is... everything okay?" he asks hesitantly. "I've never seen you this... worried, I guess?"

"I... am not entirely sure myself," Zenyatta admits. "I have an odd request."

" _ And _ a question?"

"Perhaps?"

"Well, I owe you more than I can say, so go ahead," Baptiste bids, perplexed but attentive. In the moment of quiet that follows, Leonides appears beside him, a small orange-yellow catbird perched daintily on his shoulder, and takes his hand, curious.

"Tell me about the Goddess," Zenyatta requests finally. Baptiste's expression hardens with wary concern.

"That's ancient magic, Zen; please don't tell me you're gonna go looking for the Shrine."

"Not unless I must," Zenyatta assures. "I am more interested in her followers."

"The Angels, you mean?" Baptiste scowls mildly, glancing up and down the street and pulling his hand from Leonides' to usher him out of the way. "You'd better get inside; this is definitely not a conversation to have in public."

Once the three of them are settled on the couch, Leonides powerful frame snuggled up between Baptiste's side and the arm, with Zenyatta perched on the other end and Ganymede nesting in Leonides' hair, then Baptiste relaxes slightly.

"It's been a long time since I've thought about the Angels. Every Angel is unique, you know? You don't become one without earning a title, and the Goddess is very selective about who she bestows titles on."

"You were an Angel once, were you not?" Zenyatta asks, making Baptiste frown.

"I was... but I've Fallen; I can never return to the order, and I'd be killed on sight if I ever set foot in the Shrine again."

"How did you Fall?"

"Same way anyone else does," Baptiste laughs ruefully. "I knew when he saved my life, and the Archangel knew when I returned to the Shrine. I was stripped of my immortality, lost my wings and became human." His gaze softens when Leonides looks up at him, disturbing Ganymede, and he smiles, kissing the larger man's forehead. "But I wouldn't have it any other way. Besides, I hear the new Mercy is far better at her job than I ever was."

"What makes Angels... different?" Zenyatta presses, still searching for an answer.

"Than humans?" Baptiste scoffs. "What doesn't make them different? They have the blood of the Goddess in their veins from the moment they're born, but they do start out human, so I guess they have that in common. Some potential Angels never realise what they are and live normal human lives ending in normal human deaths. Fortunately, they can't be animated by necromancers, though."

"But if they do Ascend?"

"The blood of the Goddess activates and they become immortal beings capable of many astounding acts, from restoring the souls of the recently departed to bending the entire fabric of reality nearby." Baptiste stops there, seeming torn, like he wants to say something else but can't bring himself to.

"Is there more?" Zenyatta prompts, feeling like the answers to his questions are nearly within his grasp.

"...Ascending is... more than just becoming a powerful creature incapable of dying to old age or disease," Baptiste explains carefully. "It's hard to explain... Think of it like a hive mind; the hub is in charge and connects to everything, but the drones have some semblance of autonomy outside the will of the hub. Does that make sense?"

"...I think so..." Zenyatta considers for a moment, while Baptiste avoids looking at him, choosing instead to wriggle his fingers for Ganymede to swipe at. "...If you Fell for falling in love, are Angels unable or prohibited from procreating?"

"...I don't think they're incapable," Baptiste answers hesitantly, frowning and yanking back reactively as Ganymede chomps at his fingers. "Forbidden, yes, but... I suppose if it was somehow possible to hide it from the Goddess, even just for a moment, then an Angel could impregnate or becoming pregnant." Pausing, he glances at Zenyatta. "Why?"

"Call it inordinate curiosity," Zenyatta dismisses. "During your time as an Angel, were there ever any others who could... teleport, or bend time?" Baptiste thinks for a moment, smiling absently at Leonides when he strokes comfortingly at Baptiste's arm.

"There was one... But she Fell not long after I did, for the misuse of her power, I believe. Her Angel title was Light, but I don't know what her human name was."

Hope surges up in Zenyatta's chest and it takes everything he has to hide it, nodding thoughtfully.

"Were any related to nature? To plants and animals?" he asks, covering his tracks.

"There weren't any during my time, but I've heard rumours of a floramancer joining the ranks a decade or so ago. Can't think of anything with animals, though."

"So if a dragon or a clan of dragons still existed, there are no Angels to monitor or control them?"

"As if anyone could control dragons," Baptiste snorts. "I don't think even the Goddess herself could make them stay in line."

"Fair," Zenyatta smiles softly.

He sits in quiet for a bit, processing everything; in spite of all his reading, he's learned more in the past 24 hours than most of the rest of his life. Some things still don't connect, but a picture is beginning to form, and one that gives him confidence to make his next step.

"I am going to join the draft."

Leonides bolts upright, scaring Ganymede into flying away, and his hands move so quickly that Zenyatta has a hard time following him.

"You can't. It's dangerous. You don't understand the horrors of war." Zenyatta cuts him off by reaching over and gently covering his hands, but only for a moment; just enough to stop him, not silence him.

"I understand that I am risking my life, my health, and quite possibly my sanity. But I cannot sit at home in safety knowing that people I care for are risking theirs. Especially not when I have power that may well make the difference between welcoming you home with a hug or a casket."

Leonides falters, absently rubbing his chest, and Baptiste lays a comforting hand on his knee.

"Are you sure this is something you want to do, Zen?" Baptiste asks, looking at him with an expression somewhere between worry and hope.

"It is no secret that I have witch blood; if I do not volunteer, I will no doubt be conscripted regardless. At least this way I have the chance to fight alongside my friends... My brothers."

The touched looks of awe and adoration on their faces soothe the frenzied knot in Zenyatta's chest, assuring him that this is the right decision.

◁ ▷

Already the clearing has signs of life returning, and the water is crystalline perfection as always, only days after Zenyatta's outburst. He enters peacefully this time, and after he seats himself on the bank of the pond, only a few moments of quiet pass before birds twitter curiously and animals poke out to investigate.

Smiling at the creatures, he gathers healing energy from inside himself and lets it seep out from him, both an assurance to the animals and a beacon, he hopes, to the dragon. If it really exists.

The animals scatter, and he frowns faintly, wondering if perhaps he should avoid using magic at all until the animals grow accustomed to him again.

"I'm not the only one who can feel you, magician," a low, familiar voice says in greeting. Zenyatta ceases releasing his energy, half drained and tired but content with success.

"I wondered if it was even possible to get your attention," he says, watching the water ripple ever so faintly with the near silent step of the dragon.

"Still think me a hallucination?" the dragon chuckles, stretching out beside and behind him. Surprisingly, he doesn't feel hemmed in or cornered; likely it's simply that the dragon hasn't shown any hostility, but he almost feels safe.

"Or an illusion," he offers, glancing up at the mighty beast. The dragon tips its head, seeming to grin at him, and extends a wing over him, patting his head playfully with the rubbery webbing.

"This is an illusion?" it teases. He swats at the wing, struggling not to smile, and the dragon draws it back against its side.

"I am leaving next week," Zenyatta says suddenly, deciding it better to rip off the proverbial band-aid. "It took some doing, but we are all going to be shipped out and stationed together."

"All four of you?" the dragon asks, surprised.

"Three," Zenyatta corrects. "Lucio has an official dismissal from active military duty because he is currently in charge of a revolution in his home country."

"I was under the impression that he's here."

"He is, but he has only lived here for a few years, and only because he meet Baptiste; before that, he traveled the world, performing concerts to raise awareness and money for the civil struggles in Brazil, where his family still lives. Two years ago, the leader of the rebellion he supports was killed in a protest, and he was unfortunately forced to don their mantle for the time being."

"Incredible," the dragon chuffs, shaking its head. "All of you are remarkable people."

"Mm," Zenyatta hums noncommittally, and quickly shifts the subject. "Because I have so little time left before we leave, I wanted to ask you a number of questions, unrelated to one another."

"By all means, ask," the dragon chuckles, crossing its paws. "Preferably one at a time so there's no confusion about which I'm answering."

"Do you know what ancestry I have?" Zenyatta asks before he can talk himself out of it. "You said last time that I am more powerful than I know."

"You are. I feel it, the ripples you cause simply by existing. Every time you use magic, it's a beacon of light and darkness, warmth and cold, life and death; a contradiction that shouldn't exist and yet somehow does." The dragon hesitates a moment and then admits, "That's why I came to you the first time; I couldn't stay away any longer, my curiosity wouldn't allow it."

"Is that really all? You do not intend to eat me?"

"Eat you?" the dragon laughs. "Humans are hardly worth the trouble; too little meat and too many bones. Except the fat ones, but those always made me sick. And after you learned to use fire and created weapons like guns and cannons, it was pointless to even try. Besides, cattle and mountain goats and cougars and the like are all much more easily accessible, and taste better too."

"I will pretend that is reassuring," Zenyatta says blandly, earning another laugh. He likes the dragon's laugh; it's oddly familiar and comforting.

"Any other questions?" the dragon purrs, amused.

He considers it, just for a moment; with the dragon in so good a mood, it's less likely to snap at him for asking. But in truth, he already knows the answer.

"...No," he says finally, standing. "I should go; I promised Lucio I would listen to his new album before he sends it off."

The dragon is quiet, humour rapidly fading, and Zenyatta suspects it knows what he wanted to ask. He tries to hurry away, but the dragon drops its tail in front of him, cutting him off.

"Ask."

"We both know the answer," he says softly, not looking at the dragon.

"If anyone else asked, perhaps so. If  _ you _ ask..." The dragon trails off, shifting restlessly, which puts Zenyatta instinctively on edge.

"...Come with me?" Zenyatta asks, the words leaving his tongue without his permission. Heat surges up his neck and into his face and he quickly continues. "I am fully aware of the irrationality of it, but I  _ know  _ you somehow, and I feel safe with you; I know I could trust you at my back." He bites his lip before he can really start rambling, and waits tensely for the dragon's response.

When the dragon moves, Zenyatta jolts, but the dragon merely stands and shakes out its wings.

"I will go."

And then it's gone.

◁ ▷

Mondatta must be in the kitchen when Zenyatta comes home from his last day of work before shipping out, because the air is thick with delicious scents that wash over him the moment he opens the door.

"Welcome home, Zen," Mondatta calls out in Nepali. "I prepared something special; come sit."

Zenyatta's mouth is watering even before he sees the nostalgic spread on the dining table. Foods he hasn't eaten in years, dishes he adored in his childhood, drinks he favoured and missed from his youth; all laid out in a small feast. Better, Mondatta is wearing a simple outfit much like the clothes he wore in the early days, when he was hardly more than a teenager trying to raise a child.

Altogether, Zenyatta is almost overwhelmed by the memories of a time long past, and for a moment he stands in silence, struggling not to cry.

"Zen?"

Unable to speak, he rounds the table and throws his arms around Mondatta, orbs shifting behind him as he embraces the startled older man.

"Thank you," he manages, choking on the words. Mondatta huffs a small laugh and hugs him back tightly.

"I thought you might like a small taste of home before you leave," he says in English, gently rubbing between Zenyatta's shoulders. "Since I doubt I can convince you to reconsider, the next best thing it to take a piece of me with you."

Zenyatta steps back, unsure what to say, and looks at the table. To spare them both any awkward silence, Mondatta ushers him to sit and they begin eating.

"I remember when I first let you drink," Mondatta smiles lightly after a short while, sipping an old wine that both love. "I thought you would never drink again, you protested the taste so strongly."

"Beer is an abomination and should never have been made," Zenyatta humphs, making Mondatta laugh. "How anyone can enjoy the taste of burnt piss is beyond me." Mondatta really laughs then, and Zenyatta can't help but smile at the sound that makes him melt a little inside.

After that, conversation and wine flow more freely, and once the meal is over, they tease and joke while cleaning up together. Zenyatta treasures every moment, warmed by wine and devotion. Things are mildly hazy by the time they settle together on the couch, leaning against one another with the last dregs of the bottle in their glasses, and Zenyatta wonders absently why they haven't done anything like this before.

Then it crashes down on him like an avalanche that Mondatta fears he won't return from war, and the sudden weight of his own mortality shatters the bubble of fuzzy warmth enclosing them. This could be one of their last nights together, and a kind of panic wells up in Zenyatta's chest; it was always a given, in his mind, that Mondatta would be right there beside him, but for the first time in his life, that will no longer be the case. It strikes him then that if he doesn't speak now, he may never get the chance.

Sitting up suddenly, he faces Mondatta, who shifts slightly and looks back in mild curiosity. Heart hammering and palms suddenly sweating, Zenyatta swallows and opens his mouth.

"Mondatta... If I do not survive this, I need to tell you something."

"Zen... You will survive-" Mondatta begins, a gentle chiding note in his voice like he's always had, oblivious in this moment to what's happening.

"Please. I need to... Just this once, I need to be honest." Zenyatta hesitates, clutching at whatever vestiges of courage have gotten him this far, and takes a breath. "I love you."

"And I love you," Mondatta returns, slightly confused.

For a fraction of a second, Zenyatta's heart leaps in his chest, delighted. But in the very next heartbeat, he realises they mean two very different kinds of love, and the bottom drops out of his stomach.

"No, I-" He swallows back the disappointment and embarrassment already creeping in. "I have always thought of you as more than a parent or a guardian; I have... wanted more..." He trails off, burning and unable to look at Mondatta, who remains frighteningly quiet. In only a few short seconds, he can no longer handle the shame and humiliation that builds with every breath, and he jolts to his feet. "Forget I said anything..."

Fighting back his tears, Zenyatta escapes to his room, locking the door for the first time in his life, and buries himself in bed to sob quietly into his pillow.

◁ ▷

Sparrow is perched on the desk in the library lobby when Zenyatta enters, much to the apparent annoyance of the young lady who is his replacement.

"You're so late someone had to take your place," Sparrow teases, cheerful as always. Zenyatta feels an unreasonable desire to slap the man in vague hopes of silencing him, but chooses instead to ignore him.

"I forgot to leave my keys here yesterday, Miss Mei," he says, handing his key ring to the lady at the desk.

"We're going to miss you, Zen," she says with a soft, worried smile. "Please be careful?"

"I will try my hardest," he promises, soothing his own irritability while comforting her. "Take care of my books while I am gone."

"Of course!"

Without acknowledging Sparrow at all, Zenyatta leaves, only for the young man to follow after him at a distance. For a moment, he debates chasing the man off, but Sparrow is stubborn, and more than likely he'll leave on his own when he sees where Zenyatta is heading.

It took him a long time to figure out where exactly it was, and he feared he wouldn't find it before shipping out, but he did, and now he follows the directions out of the city and beyond the forest into the hills, until finally he stands before a small, ancient temple nestled into the hillside.

The Shrine of the Watchful Goddess.

Two large statues of women in full body armour with enormous wings and staves guard the door. Sparrow has vanished, as Zenyatta knew he would, so he proceeds alone, striding up to the door and reaching for the knocker.

Suddenly, crossed staves bar his path, making him leap back, startled. When he looks up, he realises his mistake; the women are not statues.

"Halt," one commands.

"You are trespassing on sacred ground," the other warns.

"I have come to speak with the Archangel," Zenyatta explains carefully, fear chilling his veins. He keeps his hands away from his sides, and leaves all of his orbs hanging in plain sight, holding his breath.

"Mortals are not granted audience with the Archangel," the second says firmly.

"How did you even find this place?" the first scowls.

"I am a man of words, of research; I studied the history books and compared them to mythology. I never expected to find the Shrine in my own backyard."

"Your search is fruitless, mortal," the first says.

"Go back home to your family," the second adds.

"I cannot," Zenyatta says, desperation leaking through as he forces himself not to step forward. "Please... War is coming and people I care for will die if I cannot help them."

"Mortal wars are petty and pitiful," the first scoffs.

"We do not take desperate disciples, mortal," the second says sternly. "Either you are born an Angel or you are born mortal."

"And you are clearly the latter," the first smirks.

"No, I..." Zenyatta pauses, recognising suddenly that no amount of words will change their minds. Instead, he gathers together energy from inside himself, pulling it together between his palms, and then separating it into Harmony and Discord.

The Angels tense and shift, ready to fight, but he merely holds up the clusters of magic, drawing two orbs closer and pressing the clusters into them to maintain them without the magic dispersing in the air.

"Please," he says again, showing them the orbs. "I have reason to believe I am born of Angel blood; if that is true, I just want acknowledgement, some proof of my lineage so I know what I am capable of."

"...Even if you are the offspring of an Angel, which is impossible," the second says slowly, "your capabilities would differ from your parent."

"I'm not so sure it's impossible anymore," the first mutters reluctantly. "That light is definitely the magic of the Goddess."

The two exchange looks, neither seeming pleased, and draw back their staves.

"I will take you to the Archangel," the second says, stepping down from her pedestal and pushing open the door. Zenyatta breathes a shaky sigh of relief and releases his hold on the magic in the orbs, following after her.

The Archangel stands alone in a room carved out of the hillside, stone walls carefully hewn and elaborate murals chiselled lovingly into every inch. They’re facing away, long robes obscuring their form, arms outstretched in silent worship perhaps and head bowed before a stone pillar carved with ancient symbols. A large golden ball of light hangs unsupported above it, framed by stone to form an eye.

**_Leave him with me._ **

The soft, low voice seems to come from every direction at once, and Zenyatta looks around quickly, unsettled. He fears being left alone with this being, but the lady Angel simply nods and leaves the room without a word, the silence ringing in her absence.

“...I-I am Zen-”

**_I know who you are. Tekhartha Zenyatta, raised by Tekhartha Mondatta, a child without a home or a family, a friend to those in need, a witch with no heritage._ **

“Th- Then you know why I am here,” he manages, taking slow, careful breaths to keep from panicking in the presence of power unlike anything he’s ever known.

**_You wish to confirm your lineage as one of mine, an Angel of the Watchful Goddess._ **

“Am I?” he whispers, the tiniest spark of hope burning reluctantly in his chest.

**_You have not earned the answer to that question, child..._ **

“What must I do to earn it?” he asks immediately, cutting off whatever else they might have said. “Please, tell me. I will do anything to learn who I am, to know my power so that I may protect my loved ones.”

For a moment, the silence returns. Then the Archangel lowers their hands and raises their head, turning. Their face is featureless, softly glowing eyes standing out against pale skin, and the rest of them is covered; an eerie combination that makes his heart stutter.

**_Heartbreak is a terrible motive. Love has built and ruined empires, saved and lost lives; yours has been spurned, and to give you the answers you seek would only destroy you and everything you cherish._ **

“...I-”

**_No. You are not ready. The answers you seek are not the answers you desire, and only when they align will you earn them._ **

“How will I know when they have aligned?” he asks, hopeless.

**_You will know. It will be impossible to ignore. Now go; your friend is waiting, and your brothers are worried._ **

Disappointed and more lost than before he arrived, he turns to leave, unsure of everything now and questioning every choice he’s made to this point.

**_Zenyatta. Remember... [in irino omnae est unum]._ **

The Archangel raises their hands to frame the golden ball, which flares brightly, blinding him. When he blinks away the stars, he’s standing outside Shrine, both lady Angels gone. Sparrow sits cross legged in the middle of the small courtyard, unusually quiet and patient considering his normal exuberance. His gaze is on a pair of sparrows in a nearby bush, and it follows them when they flutter away, their path guiding his gaze to Zenyatta, who is staring blankly through him while trying to comprehend the significance of what just happened.

“Zen!” Sparrow leaps to his feet with a grin and bounces over. “Feeling any better now that your errand is complete?” Zenyatta blinks and looks at him, still extremely lost.

“I... may have to rethink my entire life.”

◁ ▷

“Welcome.”

Two men enter and stand at one end of the meeting room where Zenyatta, Baptiste and Bastion were told to wait, along with several others. Both carry themselves with the stern countenance of military leaders, one dark-haired with tanned skin and a pristine goatee, the other blonde, clean-shaven and fair-skinned. The blonde, who spoke, braces his hands on the long table, eyeing each person in the room for a moment before speaking again.

“I’m Strike Commander Jack Morrison, and this Sergeant Gabriel Reyes. We’re in charge of a special division of covert ops specifically meant to combat witchcraft.” His gaze falls on Zenyatta, lingering a moment before continuing around the room. “Some of us have met in the past...” He nods to Bastion, who inclines his head in response. “Others have never met before. All of you are new to this project, because this project is new. Gabe?”

“Seven years ago,” the dark-haired one jumps straight in, stepping forward while Jack moves to the side and a projector displays familiar images on the wall at the end of the room. “The Necromancers War showed the world the need for people like the Ayalas, many of whom gave their lives in the war to put an end to necromancers for good. Or so we thought. Following the war, a number of covens were discovered, most of them harmless, and a few others stomped out immediately. Two of them have since risen above the rest as major threats to the world at large: Talon and Null Sector. The former is basically a mercenary group that hires out witches to the highest bidder and pushes for a world where the most powerful witches rule over those without magic. The latter is something of a religious cult bent on utter destruction of human life to make way for nature. As they’ve grown in power, rumours have spread of a new generation of necromancers rising up to join them. In response to the threat, this project has been created: Overwatch.”

“You all have been specifically chosen,” Jack picks up as the projector turns off, “for one reason or another, to make up the core team of Overwatch. Each of you have been given a folder that contains information about your role and responsibilities. Study it. That information will dictate your lives for the foreseeable future.”

“Excuse me, sir,” Baptiste interjects, standing at attention as all eyes turn to him. “We were conscripted for a war against Russia. Are you saying that was a lie?”

“No. And yes,” Jack answers, mouth quirking in a faint smile. “Overwatch will be involved with the coming war between Russia and Euro-Chinese forces. However, for all intents and purposes, Overwatch officially does not exist. You are all ghosts now, and as such, all of your personal data in official files has been erased; as far as the world is concerned, but for the memories of your loved ones at home, you were never born. Any other questions? Good. Now go around the room and introduce yourselves: name, age, and one quick fact about yourself.” He really smiles now, shedding some of the severity of earlier. “Don’t be afraid to have a little fun; we’re all stuck together for who knows how long, so break the ice now. I’ll start; as I said, Jack Morrison, I’m 39 going on 40, and this loveable grouch is my boyfriend of six years.” He winks at Gabriel, who growls quietly while several people in the room stifle snickers.

“Gabriel Reyes, 43; if you ever call me any of your little pet names in present company, I will shoot your ass and let you pick out the shotgun pellets on your own.”

“Rude,” Jack says lightly, unbothered. “Next.”

“Jean-Baptiste Augustin, but most call me Baptiste. 36. And if we’re sharing our relationships, I think it’s only fair that you all know I’m in a poly relationship with Leo and a guy back home named Lucio.”

“Wait!” the smallest, and perhaps youngest, of the group blurts out excitedly. “Lucio Correia dos Santos??”

“I take it you’re a fan?” Baptiste grins.

“Are you kidding??” the girl squeals, bouncing over and tugging enthusiastically on his arm. “I have every single song he put out, including the redacted version of  _ Love’s Last Breath _ , and the twilight soundtrack for his protest in Rio last year! Oh please oh please oh  _ please _ have him send me an autograph??”

“I can do you one better and have him send a copy of his new unreleased album.”

“ _ Battlecry _ ??” Multiple people flinch away from her shriek of delight, and she quickly claps both hands over her mouth, wiggling with glee. “Sorry; I’m just so excited! Lucio is the reason I found the courage to stand up in my hometown in Korea. I’m a quarter witch through my grandma, who was a summoner during the Necromancers War.”

“And your name is...?” Baptiste prompts, offering a hand.

“Hana Song!” she chirps, taking his hand. “My gaming friends call me D.va.”

“Oh, I’ve heard of you,” someone else pipes up. “You topped the rankings for the MEKA tournament earlier this year, didn’t you?”

“Yep! Two years running,” she giggles, holding up two fingers both to visualise her statement and as a victory symbol.

“And only 17 years old!”

“Actually my birthday is tomorrow,” she beams. Congratulations and well wishes come from around the room, making her blush and grin. “Aw, thanks, guys!”

“I suppose I’ll go next,” the oddest member of the group ― a gorilla ― clears his throat, adjusting glasses. “My name is Winston, and I’m not entirely sure how old I am, exactly... I was nominally a failed experiment combining necromantic theory with life magic and bioengineering. As you can see, failure is subjective.”

“Ooh, ooh, my turn!” a petite brunette with a heavy British accent and a faintly glowing medallion strapped to her chest. “I’m Lena Oxton, 26, and I’ve been working with Winston since the end of the Necromancers War. He saved my life when a witch cursed me out of time, by pulling together this little thing for me.” She taps a thumb to the medallion. “Keeps me mostly bound to the current time, but I can play with the fabric of time just a little bit here and there for myself.”

“Magic certainly isn’t all bad,” Jack chuckles. “It definitely has its uses.”

“If carefully used,” a tall, slender woman chides. Once attention is on her, it’s clear she’s not exactly human. In fact, she’s an Angel.

“Mercy,” Baptiste greets politely, nodding.

“Hello, Baptiste,” she smiles gently. “Angela Zeigler was my human name, and I am more than alright with either name. I was 32 when I Ascended and became an Angel of the Watchful Goddess, and I believe this is where she wants me. And yes, my wings are real.”

“Guess that makes me next,” a familiar American drawls. “Name’s Jesse McCree, ‘m 37, and in case it ain’t obvious as hell, I’m from the good ole US of A. Believe it or not, I’ve known Gabe since we were kids, and ain’t no bigger softie if y’all don’t get on his bad side.” Gabriel growls again, but Jesse just grins and winks at him.

“Is it my turn?” Zenyatta hums. “Tekhartha Zenyatta, 25. I have witch blood, and no memory of my parents; I was raised by a magician who taught me to control my power.”

“I’m sure you’ll be an excellent addition to the team,” Jack assures. “And that brings us to our most experienced member. Mr. Augustine, if you would please introduce your partner.”

“This is Leonides Sol Ayala,” Baptiste says, taking his hand and squeezing comfortingly. “You may know him as the Bastion of Rialto.” He pauses for a moment to let the murmurs settle before continuing. “He is 30 years old, and the trauma of the war left him mute. Fortunately, he was a quick study with ISL, and is a man of few words anyway. Also, I’m pretty sure he loves his catbird more than me.”

Without looking at him, Bastion reaches up and flicks the side of Baptiste’s head, making many of the people in the room laugh.

“Good, good,” Jack says when the humour dies. “Welcome to Overwatch, everyone. Let’s get you all set up, shall we?”

◁ ▷

A warm pulse of magic against Zenyatta’s mind wakes him, and for a moment he stares blearily at the ceiling. Another pulse nudges at him, like the tangible press of heat from a campfire. He gets up and leaves the room, quietly closing the door behind him so as not to wake Baptiste or Leonides. Without really knowing what he’s doing or where he’s going, he wanders outside and stares up at the stars.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

If Zenyatta were properly awake, he might have jumped out of his skin. As it is, he blinks a couple of times at the dragon stretched out nearby, relaxing without a care in the world.

“...Shimada?” he guesses, too drowsy to think straight.

“Hello, magician. Sorry to interrupt your sleep, but I figured it would be better than risking the occupants of this compound attacking me the moment I showed my face.”

“Hehh...” Zenyatta smiles sleepily. “Showed your fangs.” The dragon pauses, cocking its head and watching him with eyes that reflect the moonlight like all animals. It should be creepy or scary, but Zenyatta is too tired to be scared or creeped out, or anything but fascinated, and the dragon definitely notices.

"You're cute when you're sleepy."

"Show me your fangs, Shimada," Zenyatta coos, stepping closer and grasping plaintively at air. "I want to see your pretty fangs."

"Really now?" the dragon hums, cocking its head the other way. "You do realise how dangerous that is for you, don't you?"

"I will be fine," Zenyatta insists. "Let me see."

Amused, the dragon lowers its head to his level and opens its jaws slightly to reveal rows of sharp teeth framed by jagged fangs and dark gums. Hot breath brushes against Zenyatta's face as he reaches out to run his fingers lightly over the teeth, admiring the faintly stained pearly shine.

"So pretty..." he murmurs, barely having the sense of self to draw back so the dragon can close its mouth. "I like your fangs."

A gentle rumble echoes through the dragon's chest, and its scales flare oddly, like a bird fluffing its feathers, which creates a pleasant tinkling sound as they clink against one another.

"Thank you," the dragon purrs. "You should go back to sleep, though; I just want to let you know that I'm here, as I promised."

"I will sleep out here with you," Zenyatta decides, stepping closer. The dragon stops him with the back of its paw against his chest, and he pouts, which makes the dragon falter.

"You need to sleep inside. Your friends will wonder where you are in the morning."

"So?" Zenyatta huffs, pout growing. The dragon's will is crumbling, but it tries one last time.

"If they go looking for you, and find me instead, they might think I ate you."

"You said you do not eat eat humans," Zenyatta points out, leaning a little into the dragon's paw. In a stroke of surprising genius for how not awake he is, he adds, "If they see me  _ with _ you, would they not realise you are an ally?"

"Gods above, how am I supposed to resist this man?" the dragon whines quietly at the sky. Sighing, it shifts and raises a wing, offering a cozy space against its side that Zenyatta eagerly settles into. He hums, pleased, and snuggles against the warm scales without a care for the dangers of sleeping beside a dragon. Within moments he's asleep and the dragon watches him quietly for a while before laying its head down to encircle Zenyatta and dozing off lightly, certain that the morning is going to be troublesome.

◁ ▷

"So. You have a dragon?" Hana chirps, leaning on Zenyatta's shoulder. He sighs, already tired of everyone's awe and jokes.

"He is not  _ my _ dragon," he says, trying to ignore the attention focused on him so he can finish his lunch. "He does not belong to anyone. As I said before, I made a request, and he honoured it."

"You say that like dragons heed the wishes of humans," Hana laughs, plopping down next to him and destroying his hope of being left in peace. He casts a pleading glance at Baptiste, who pointedly ignores it, smirking at his food.

"Obviously dragons are not beholden to humans..."

"Obviously. But there are legends of dragon riders: magicians and witches who earned the trust of a dragon and flew into battles on its back."

"Legends that died out with the Purge; yes, I am aware."

"I'm saying," Hana persists, rolling her eyes, "that you could be the one to bring them back. Maybe you could ride the dragon!"

"Unlikely," he humphs, glaring at Baptiste for leaving him to this fate. "He is a Shimada, and they have always been a proud lineage; even in the time of the dragon riders, none ever rode a Shimada."

"None  _ yet _ ," Hana corrects. "I'm telling you, Zen; that dragon likes you. You could ask it to do jumping jacks and it wouldn't hesitate."

"Have you eaten today? Are you lightheaded? I think you may be hallucinating."

"Hmph. Say what you like, but  _ you _ didn't see how fiercely it protected you when Commander Jack found you two in the courtyard."

To Zenyatta's relief, she leaves then, only for Mercy to come by and lean on the table.

"Enough already!" he bursts out finally, unable to hold back his irritation any longer. "Please, I do not want to talk about Shimada!"

"Of course," Mercy hums, brow quirked. "I'm not here to ask about your dragon; Commander Morrison wants us to talk, since we all have healing capabilities. I was thinking perhaps a show of abilities later in the training room?"

"Oh. I- Of course," Zenyatta nods, glancing at Baptiste, who shrugs. Bastion is too intrigued with his food to be paying attention.

"Excellent," Mercy smiles, and leaves.

"You do not like her?" Zenyatta asks, watching Baptiste.

"That's not it," he frowns. "It's just... hard not to be a little resentful of the person who took your place. Even if you don't ever want it back."

"Ah, I see. Then this ought to be a wonderful opportunity for you to talk to her and get to know one another."

"Speaking of," Baptiste grins at him. "I think someone wants to get to know you." He gestures subtly at Jesse, who currently sits alone at another table. "He's been staring at you since the Commander found you this morning."

"I am acutely aware," Zenyatta groans. "He is as fascinated by dragons as Sparrow." He stands reluctantly. "I might as well get it over with now so I can bash my head in later in preparation for our meeting with Mercy."

"Good luck," Baptiste chuckles.

"If you continue to stare at me like that, you will bore a hole right through me," Zenyatta tells Jesse blandly, sitting down at his table.

"Oh. Sorry," Jesse grimaces, a faint blush creeping into his face. "Didn't mean to come off like a creeper. Just... erm... curious..."

"About Shimada."

"Yeah... How...?" He bites his lip, uncertain, and Zenyatta sighs, wanting this over with already.

"As I have said many times, I did nothing; we met, we talked, I made a request, he honoured it. That is all there is to the story."

"No, I... I wanted to ask..." Jesse hesitates, glancing around and leaning closer. "How did you gain his trust? Ya think it'd work on another Shimada?"

"I do not know how-" Zenyatta stops, properly registering what Jesse said, and looks at him closely. "Another Shimada?"

"Y-Yeah, uh... hypothetically speaking," Jesse explains hurriedly.

A lie.

Intrigued now, Zenyatta leans closer as well.

"You have met another Shimada?"

"No!" Jesse exclaims, much too quickly. "No, of course not; what're the odds of two Shimadas bein' found by humans in the same area?" He laughs, much more believable now if he hadn't already given himself away.

"Astronomical," Zenyatta hums, eyeing him closely. "As I said, I did nothing. He trusted me before I trusted him, in fact. That he is here at all is certainly proof of that."

"Right, right. Pretty fascinating creatures, aren't they?"

"Very."

"Gonna be one hell of an asset when we fight, ain't he?"

"Most certainly."

"Guess we got mighty lucky, then, huh?"

"Indubitably."

An awkward silence falls as Jesse fidgets uneasily under Zenyatta's stare. He clears his throat, but nothing changes, so he finally cracks.

"Okay! Good talk; take care." Standing, he hurries away.

Zenyatta taps his nails rhythmically on the tabletop, considering. Then he goes outside to find the dragon, who is remarkably still present, despite the gaggles of onlookers peeking out from windows and around corners.

"Magician," it greets, lifting its head when he draws close. The staff stir eagerly and snap pictures, but both ignore them.

"Zenyatta, please," he bids. "I have a question for you, and I understand if you do not wish to answer."

"Ooh, so formal," the dragon chuckles. "Should I be worried?"

"No, it is simply a question."

"Ask away then."

“Are there others of your clan here?” Zenyatta asks slowly. “Other Shimada dragons?” The dragon doesn’t answer immediately, and Zenyatta holds his breath, hoping he hasn’t insulted the dragon. When the silence continues, he regrets asking at all. “I apol-”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“Yes, there is another Shimada in this part of the world. My brother. He is... He was the heir to the empire when we Shimadas ruled.” The dragon doesn’t seem very pleased to be sharing the information, and that more than anything drives home how much it must trust him. Touched and honoured, Zenyatta steps closer and reaches up to lay a hand on the warm scales of the dragon’s neck.

“I am sorry for your losses,” he says quietly. “I cannot imagine watching so many loved ones die.”

“I’ve learned to live with it,” the dragon replies calmly, lowering its head to touch Zenyatta’s shoulder in a facsimile of an embrace. “And for you, I’ll bear it again.”

“Why do you trust me so easily?” The words leap from his tongue without conscious approval, but he doesn’t try to take them back; he doesn’t even want to. Shifting back, he raises his hand and brushes it lightly over the dragon’s muzzle, tracing the sharp edges of its scales. “We are hardly more than strangers and still you wish to fight for me?”

“I’m going to sound creepy,” the dragon chuckles, “but I’ve been watching you for a long time. As innately powerful as you are, it’s almost impossible for someone as sensitive to magic as a dragon to ignore you. I know I  _ can _ trust you, and that’s all that matters to me.”

“Then I will return the favour and place my trust in you,” Zenyatta promises. “I will not let your trust in me be misplaced.” The dragon hums, a strangely sad sound that carries into his tone beneath the teasing.

“However do I deserve such an honour?”

“We rarely get what we deserve,” Zenyatta notes seriously, stroking the dragon’s muzzle and considering all of his mistakes in recent weeks. “I, for one, am grateful to have you instead.”

A pleased purr rumbles in the dragon’s chest and its scales flare, clinking pleasantly.

“Likewise.”

◁ ▷

Their first battle is a small skirmish in Lijiang, China.

Hana dominates the battlefield with her summoned Mech, which can be detonated after a buildup period and resummoned.

Winston’s Tesla cannon, handbuilt by the scientist himself, proves to be a formidable force to be reckoned with, and his deployable, recharging shield saves many lives.

Mercy manages to resurrect two of the seven friendly casualties, and prevents dozens more with her healing magic.

Lena keeps the enemy forces on their toes, blinking in and out of time with the magic of her curse, and wreaks havoc even with only two small pistols that she never needs to resupply with ammunition because she can simply turn back time to a few seconds prior when the clips were full.

Jesse displays astonishing skills with nothing more than a revolver and a flashbang, and more than once flips the tide of the battle with one calculated move.

Baptiste, while no longer an Angel, very nearly heals as many people as Mercy with his special gun, which shoots pellets of healing potions rather than grenades from the launcher beneath the barrel, and the technology he created for his amplification matrix is most definitely a deciding factor of their victory.

Bastion, true to his name, is a foundation around which Overwatch rallies, a pillar of strength untouchable by hostile magic and capable of repairing minor injuries on his own with such incredible speed that the hail of bullets from his gatling hardly pauses.

Jack and Gabriel vanish early on in the battle, but return after the enemy has been routed, both covered in blood spatters and worn, but wearing triumph like crowns and even sharing a kiss when they think no one is looking.

Zenyatta feels as though he floundered for the entire battle, and keeps to himself while the others celebrate in the carrier on the way back to base. At no point in the battle did it seem necessary to activate the calling spell winding around his wrist that would bring Shimada to the field, and thus Zenyatta had no use, not when Mercy and Baptiste were more than enough to heal their allies and each of the rest individually did more damage than he ever has, even including his explosion of rage the first time he met Shimada.

Upon returning to base, Jack calls everyone together before they disappear to their own quarters to clean up and rest, and with Gabriel’s help, hands out the mail that has been sent to the military from loved ones around the world and gathered up to be turned over to Overwatch. Delighted to hear from home, everyone opens their letters and packages immediately; Hana shrieks in delight when Baptiste hands her a CD with handmade cover art drawn and signed by Lucio.

Only Zenyatta keeps his single letter sealed until he reaches the room he shares with Leonides and Baptiste. Since the others are still sharing news from home with one another, he’s alone for the moment, and he takes the opportunity to steel himself for whatever might be in the letter; the return address says it’s from Mondatta, and he fears the second rejection he’ll find within.

Swallowing his fear, he tears open the envelope and pulls out the paper inside. A picture falls out from between the folds, and he picks it up before reading the letter; it’s the photo Mondatta kept on his desk of the two of them sightseeing when they first moved from Nepal.

The letter is brief and simple:  _ “My Dear Zen, Already I miss you. Are you safe? I hope you are doing well and taking care of yourself. I am already counting the days until you return home. All my love, Mondatta.” _

It isn’t a rejection.

Somehow, that feels worse.

Aching, Zenyatta tucks the letter and picture back into the envelope and sets it on his nightstand. A hot shower does wonders for the soreness of his body, but nothing for the tenderness of his soul, and he pointedly avoids looking at the letter when he crawls into bed.

He feigns sleep when Baptiste and Leonides return, and pretends it doesn’t pierce him through the heart to hear them kissing and giggling like schoolkids with their first crush.

Sleep doesn’t come easily, and when it does, it isn’t restful.

◁ ▷

Their second engagement in the war is less a battle and more a strategic distraction and strike; Jack divides them into two teams, taking Jesse, Hana, Mercy, Baptiste and Bastion with him and sending Winston, Lena and Zenyatta with Gabriel. The idea is for Jack’s team to engage the enemy on the front end while Gabriel’s team sneaks into the guarded bunker to capture ― or if necessary, kill ― a powerful summoner working for Russian forces.

Zenyatta dislikes being the only healer on his team, especially after being so useless last time, but he keeps his protests to himself; if worse comes to worst, he can always call on Shimada.

Things start out fine. Everyone is in place and doing his or her job perfectly. Gabriel and his team make inside the bunker without raising any alarms, and quietly make their way toward the office where their target should be holed up. Lena stands guard while Winston hacks the door lock, and the moment the sturdy metal door opens, Gabriel slips inside, twin shotguns at the ready.

That's when it falls apart.

"Damnit..." Gabriel growls as the other three join him in the empty office. He holsters one shotgun and taps the comm in his ear. "Jack, it's a bust; the target isn't here."

_ "That can't be; the tip was solid." _

"I'm telling you what I see, Morrison; she's not here."

"Um, Sergeant?" Lena interjects.

"Hold that thought; what is it?"

She points to a section of the wall. It almost isn't noticeable, and certainly no one would see it if they weren't actively searching for it; the corner juncture is slightly off, and the reason is a hidden door that isn't completely closed.

"Well spotted, Lena," Gabriel nods approvingly, tapping his comm again. "Jack, we might have a lead; buy us as much time as you can."

_ "Make it quick, babe; we're taking heavy fire up here." _

"Don't call me that in the middle of a mission, Morrison," Gabriel scowls, gesturing for Winston to open the door. "Going silent."

_ "Copy." _

"Lena, scout ahead," Gabriel orders, taking out his shotgun again. "Winston, take the rear. Zen, on my six and don't leave it."

"Roger that!" Lena chirps, and then blinks into the corridor behind the door with a giggle, pistols drawn.

"After you," Winston smiles at Zenyatta, who silently follows Gabriel.

They aren't far into the tunnel when they hear a buzzing and a muffled scream from ahead. Just as Gabriel starts forward, Lena appears out of nowhere in front of him, stumbling backward into his arms and making him drop one of his guns. She's wide-eyed and trembling, and none of them like that.

"Lena! Are you alright?" Winston asks, stepping forward but stopping when he realises there isn't exactly room for him to pass in the small corridor.

"I- I'm fine, big guy," she manages, forcing a shaky smile as she picks herself up. "Just a bit of a scare, that's all."

"Report," Gabriel orders, picking up his shotgun.

"Erm... Well, thing is... I'm not entirely sure _ what _ I saw. It was... round, about yeh big, and as soon as I got near it, some kind of... electricity or something beamed right at me."

"Sounds like some kind of automated turret," Winston hums, frowning. "I'd have to get a look at it to be sure."

"...Zen, see to Lena; we'll proceed with caution to see these... turrets."

"Oh I'm fine, really," Lena says, trying to laugh it off, and once again, Zenyatta feels a sense of uselessness. It must show on his face, because she falters and then adds, "But I guess I probably should let you check, just in case I'm in shock or something." She smiles brightly, and it helps ease the feeling. Zenyatta manages to smile in return as he pulls an orb to his hand and fills it with healing energy, letting it go to attach to Lena and keeping it on her until he's certain she's fully healed.

Not much further down the hall, Lena indicates the turret, and Winston deploys his shield to set it off, watching closely as the beam steadily chips away at the shield until it shatters and begins recharging.

"Hmm. This isn't good," he rumbles.

"What is it?" Gabriel growls, annoyed by the lack of successes.

"It appears to be a hardlight fabrication set with motion triggers and fashioned as a conduit for hardlight energy. A difficult feat even for a master techromancer, though science has nearly been successful in creating similar devices that mimic the functionality..." Gabriel is already tapping his comm.

"Jack, we've got a problem."

_ "Bigger than a titan Mech guarded by a pair of gargoyles? Because that's what we're dealing with up here, babe." _

"I said don't-" Gabriel cuts off with an audible growl. "The summoner is also a techromancer; this target just became priority one. Whatever you're doing, get it done and find out where this escape tunnel leads."

_ "Oh hell... You couldn't have told me you were following an escape tunnel earlier? Bastion, watch the flank! On your six, Mercy! We're a little too busy up here to help you down there, Gabriel; figure something out." _

"Copy," Gabriel mutters, properly irritated now. "Winston, shut down that turret and see if you can figure out the schematics of this place; we need to find the target before she escapes."

"Let me figure this place out, Sergeant," Lena requests eagerly. "I'll blink past the turrets and check out the corridor and any side passages; be back here in a jiff!"

"You have two minutes," Gabriel allows. Then he thinks about that for a second and adds, "Our time. Whatever that translates to in your time."

"You got it, Serg!" she winks, vanishing down the corridor.

"Zenyatta, call the dragon," Gabriel orders. "The sooner things get wrapped up topside, the better chance we have of finding and eliminating the target."

"Are you sure, Sergeant?" Zenyatta asks hesitantly, well aware that Shimada is meant to be the failsafe, the backup plan if everything goes to hell.

"Do it!"

"Yes, sir..." Disliking everything about this, Zenyatta taps the symbols marked on his wrist in order, activating the calling spell. It heats his skin, and the heat dissipates quickly, focusing on one side of his wrist and fading to a soft warmth to indicate direction and distance. "He is en route."

"Good. Winston, status?"

"Mm, I'm not sure it's possible to disable without getting close, but the power behind it will eat through my shield faster than I can disable it."

"Fine." Raising a shotgun, Gabriel shoots the turret, making it explode into sparkles of pale blue light.

"No, wait!" Winston protests, too late. "Oh gods... Sir, techromancers have a limited number of things they can create, but if you destroy one, they can just recreate it. Not only that, she knows someone destroyed one, and where it was. You just gave away our position."

"Then let's get moving before she has time to prepare. Use your cannon on the others." Winston hesitates a moment before sighing and nodding.

"Yes, sir."

To destroy them, he has to get just within range of the turrets, but his Tesla cannon overloads them quickly enough that he barely takes a hit. Zenyatta attaches a healing orb to him anyway.

"Shimada is almost here," he reports when the last turret is destroyed. "The commander should be able to see him any moment now."

"Jack, dragon incoming; keep the mech distracted for a few seconds more and your backup will take care of the rest."

_ "You called in- Damnit, there's no time for this; we'll talk about this back at base. Heads up, guys; backup incoming!" _

Lena blinked back to them, eyes bright.

"Found the target, sir!" she reports eagerly. "There's a side tunnel that backtracks off the main one; you'd miss it going one way. And the main tunnel leads to an underground river; it's too fast and choppy for an escape route anyway."

"Good. Lead the way."

A thunderous roar permeates through the ground, and a crash above makes dust rain from the ceiling. Lena gasps delightedly and grabs Winston's arm, shaking him.

"Cheers, love; the cavalry's here!!"

◁ ▷

"What happened out there?" Jack demands as soon as everyone is in the meeting room.

"The target escaped, obviously," Gabriel scowls.

"I haven't even started with you, Reyes," Jack snaps, glaring. "Is Bastion the only one around here who knows how to follow orders? What happened to the synergy we built in our first engagement? Now, not only have we  _ lost _ a valuable target, we've practically given the enemy our hand."

"We weren't prepared," Hana whispers, curled up in one of the chairs. "Nobody said anything about gargoyles..."

"The information was faulty," Baptiste agrees grimly. "That tip was nothing more than a trap."

"Every tip that comes our way has the potential to be a trap," Jack says sharply, putting his hands on the table. "We're supposed to adapt and overcome whatever happens. If it's a trap, we retreat, regroup, and reengage; simple as that!"

"You're asking more of us than we can give," Baptiste returns hotly. "Hana is a  _ child _ , for Goddess' sake! We've done exactly how many team building exercises? We're not ready for this war; our first engagement was beginner's luck, and that luck just ran out."

"Watch your tone, soldier," Jack warns.

"He's right, Jack," Gabriel says. "They're not ready. A moment's hesitation in the field..." His gaze pierces Winston. "Or questioning your superior's decisions..." His gaze falls on Zenyatta. "There's a million things that could get everyone killed; we're lucky everyone survived."

"Barely," Mercy says quietly, glancing at Jesse, who sports a new scar across the side of his neck. He doesn't look at anyone, rubbing his hand over the scar.

"Damnit, Reyes!" Jack slams his hands against the table and whirls to face him. "You called the dragon? You might as well have announced to the world that they exist and we've got one!"

"And if even one thing had gone differently and we'd eliminated the target, you'd be singing my praises for turning the tide," Gabriel scoffs. "Don't pretend you wouldn't have done the same thing in my position."

Jack opens his mouth to argue, but stops himself, gritting his teeth. It takes him a second to visibly calm down, but he does.

"Everyone meet in the training room at 0700 tomorrow morning. You're all dismissed. Reyes, a word."

The door barely closes behind the last person before sounds of a fight break out, and everyone falters.

"Leave them be," Baptiste says wearily, taking Leonides' hand and leaning on his shoulder. "Sometimes you can only express yourself through your fists."

"We're alive," Winston points out. "That's all that matters."

"Yeah," Lena adds, trying to be upbeat. "Can't win every fight, can you? We'll do better next time."

"And if we don't?" Hana asks softly.

No one answers.

"Let's get some rest," Winston sighs. "We're going to need it for whatever the commander has planned for us tomorrow."

People disperse according to room assignments, and Leonides stops when he notices Zenyatta isn't following. Baptiste glances at him and follows his gaze to Zenyatta, frowning.

"Coming, Zen?"

"Go ahead of me," Zenyatta dismisses. "I would like to see Shimada."

"Okay," Baptiste nods. "Just don't take too long, alright?"

Zenyatta waits until they’re out of sight before wandering outside to find the dragon, who’s resting in the middle of the garden and licking its wounds, literally. The dragon shifts when he approaches, laying more on its side and adjusting its wing to leave a space for Zenyatta to sit against it, which he does, neither of them speaking for the moment.

“That didn’t go as planned, did it?” the dragon sighs softly, laying its head in front of Zenyatta.

“No. I am sorry you were hurt for nothing.”

“You’re alive. That’s all that matters.”

“That is what Winston said,” Zenyatta huffs quietly, gaze dropping to his hands. “We failed, Shimada.  _ I _ failed...”

“How?”

“I- I do not belong here,” he whispers. “I thought I could protect the people I care about, but I... am useless. Every talent I thought worth my place here is insignificant compared to the talents of those around me. My only purpose now is... you. Calling you at the order of superiors who cannot even agree on the simplest things. It is all chaos... and I can only contribute to the mess.”

“...I don’t think I have ever heard such an outrageous lie in the whole of my life,” the dragon says bluntly. “And I have lived a very, very long time.”

“How much of that has been around humans?” Zenyatta retorts, unusually biting. 

“You’re lucky I like you, morsel,” the dragon returns without missing a beat. “Now shut up and listen to me. I have known full-blooded witches who on their best days couldn’t do half the damage you did to that forest on the day we met in that clearing. I have heard politicians who swayed entire countries in their favour whose speeches are an infant’s babbling compared to how easily you appeal to people. You have more talent in your little finger than anyone else here... You just don’t know how to apply it. Once you figure that out, you won’t feel so useless anymore.”

“...I wish I could believe that,” Zenyatta mutters, huddling into himself.

“...What happened to you, Zen?” the dragon asks, watching him. “You were so confident, so fired up before. What could possibly cut you so low when everything else merely fanned the flame?”

“At some point, we all must face the reality of who we are and where we belong,” he answers shortly, avoiding the dragon’s gaze.

"Where does Zenyatta belong?"

"...Not here."

"At home then?"

The letter comes to mind and Zenyatta flinches, chest aching.

"No."

"Then where?"

"Nowhere?" he answers hopelessly.

"You belong  _ somewhere _ , Zenyatta," the dragon says shortly, frustrated, and that makes the last strand of his temperament snap.

"No, I do not!" he snarls, lunging to his feet and venting his own frustration with a volley of ghostly orbs of destruction into the nearest bush to punctuate his words. "I belong nowhere! Not here, where I am little more than dead weight! Not in the Shrine of the Watchful Goddess, whose disciples refuse to tell me whether or not I have Angel blood! Not at home, where the man I love will only ever see the child he raised! I am nothing and no one, with no place or purpose! I should not even exist!!"

A wave of Discord bursts out from him, reflecting off of the dragon's scales and practically evaporating every plant in the area. Exhausted, but still angry and aching, Zenyatta slumps to his knees, panting. The dragon moves slowly, shifting to reach out a paw and pull him against its side. Then it curls around him, head nestling in his lap.

"This is a place for you to belong," the dragon says softly. "No expectations, no worries, no fears; all you have to do... is be."

The simple, generous, unjudging offer shatters the bubble of self-hatred around Zenyatta, leaving him raw from the inside out. Wrapping his arms around the dragon's head, he presses his face against the scales and cries until he has no tears left to cry, until the exhaustion is too much and sleep envelops him in a gentle embrace.

◁ ▷

"Lena, catch!" Winston bellows, chucking the package an instant before Hana's Mech crashes into him and takes him down.

"Got it!" Lena chirps, blinking into the package's path and snagging it out of the air, only to turn around and trip over Jesse's boot.

"I'll take that," Jesse winks, scooping up the package and taking off.

"Jesse, behind you!" Baptiste warns, lunging toward him.

Tucking into a perfect combat roll, Jesse dodges Mercy's grasp, just in time for her to get tackled by Baptiste. Laughing, the American ducks around a corner, and the package is immediately snatched from his arms.

"Cheers!" Lena giggles, blinking away.

"No fair!" Jesse calls out good-naturedly. "Not supposed to use magic!"

"You say that like Hana didn't summon her Mech," Winston laughs, shoving said Mech back and lunging out of the way.

"Can't change what I am, love," Lena grins, and promptly slams into the wall of muscle that is Bastion, who easily scoops her up and pries the package out of her grasp. Whistling, he throws it at Baptiste, who managed to get away from Mercy, but part way through the arc, a ghost orb hits it, knocking it away from Baptiste and perfectly into Mercy's arms. She spreads her wings and launches forward, passing through the light barrier that marks the goal.

"Victory!" she cheers, laughing as she holds up the package.

"Great job, guys," Jack nods approvingly from where he stands above the training floor. "That evens out the score at 3-3. Tie-breaker?"

"Give us a moment to catch our breaths," Jesse chuckles, hands on his knees. "Nice recovery, Lena."

"Thanks, love!" she giggles. "Great timing with that tackle, Baptiste!"

"Still can't beat an Angel," he huffs with a grin at Mercy.

"Well I never would have gotten the ball without Zenyatta's excellent aim," she points out warmly.

"We have all improved this week," Zenyatta smiles, savouring the praise. "Struggling for an hour or more at a time to score even one point is a far cry from stumbling over one another our first game."

"I'll say!" Hana giggles, sliding out of her Mech and banishing it. "I never thought I'd be able to summon two Mechs one after another like that! At least, not without passing out."

"Everyone's stamina, speed, and strength have increased remarkably in the past week," Winston chimes in. "I've been monitoring our stats and vitals since we began these exercises, and the improvement is incredible; percentage for percentage, we've improved almost more than any known organisation in the world. Only the American Marines and a sect of Russia's militia run by Vishkar show better numbers."

"It prob'ly helps we got a dragon to toast our backsides if we don't move fast enough," Jesse jokes, nudging Zenyatta with his elbow. "And don't think we ain't noticed your late night training with him too, Zen."

"As you said, it helps to have the threat of a toasted backside," Zenyatta returns, ignoring the bait.

"Think you could be a little more obvious, Jesse?" Baptiste snorts, amused.

"Don't see you askin' if he's got a thing for Shimada," Jesse points out.

"I happen to like living, thank you," Baptiste deadpans. Everyone laughs at that.

"Alright, everybody," Jack cuts in, biting back his own smile. "One last round and then we'll hit the showers before dinner. This time we'll switch things up instead and do Mercy, Hana, Lena, Baptise against Zenyatta, Bastion, Winston, Jesse. Ball, please."

Mercy tosses it to him and everyone splits up, taking note of where their teammates are. After five seconds to prepare, Jack starts the timer and throws the ball as hard as he can away from the goal. Lena catches it, of course, and it's game on.

Just under an hour later, Winston scores, and everyone collapses with hard earned and delighted exhaustion.

"Well done, everybody," Jack nods, smirking. "Now go hit the showers before you stink up the place; see you all in the dining room in thirty minutes."

"Pretty sure it's gonna take thirty minutes just to peel myself off the floor," Jesse puffs through heavy breaths.

"You said it," Hana mutters, and everyone chuckles.

◁ ▷

Everyone is eating lunch in the courtyard with the dragon when Gabriel finds them.

"Everyone suit up and report to the hanger in ten," he orders without preamble. "Zen, Shimada, check your calling spell. Everyone else, double check your weapons before we leave."

He's gone before anyone can ask questions, and they all exchange curious looks as they hurry to clean up and obey.

"Another battle?" the dragon asks, touching a claw to Zenyatta's wrist while he ensures the magic is still secure.

"Most likely," Zenyatta agrees grimly. "I am somewhat surprised we have waited so long to get involved again, but I have no doubt it is in part because we were laying low after our failure last time."

"It wasn't a failure," the dragon says. "Just a learning opportunity; you'll do better this time, I'm sure of it."

"We are certainly better trained," Zenyatta smiles lightly. "We will call you if needed."

"I'm counting on it. Don't get left behind."

Laughing, Zenyatta quickly catches up to the others, and everyone is ready and in the hanger right on time. Once they're all loaded on the carrier and in the air, Jack addresses them.

"Listen up, people. We've had to lay low for a little while because of last time, but now the war just got big; both sides clashed hard just outside Pavlodar in Kazakhstan, and evacuations are already in progress for civilians. This is day three of the battle and it only seems to be getting more intense, so we're dropping in at the edge of enemy lines to try and break them up a bit. If we win this battle, we may well be able to end this war before it really gets going, understand? This is one for the history books, so let's make sure we're the ones writing it. You've all vastly improved since the last mission, so just stick together and don't forget your training. And especially keep an eye on Mercy, Baptiste and Zenyatta; if they start targeting our healers and we all die because of it, it won't matter how much of a dent we make in the process. Top priority is keeping each other alive, got it?"

"Yes, sir!" comes the immediate answer in unison.

"Good. ETA is just under three hours, so take a nap, do jumping jacks, tackle each other; whatever you need to do to get your head in the game. I'll be back for the ten-minute warning."

Jack heads up into the cockpit with Gabriel, and the instant the door closes behind him, Jesse glances at the others.

"Ten bucks says they fuck at least once before we land."

"Twenty!" Hana grins. "They're too professional for that."

"Deal," Jesse returns.

"Oh come now," Mercy clucks disapprovingly. She pauses and then, with a sly little smirk, adds, "You underestimate their stamina if you think they'll only fuck once." Laughter rings out in the cargo hold.

"Who knew an Angel could have such a crude tongue!" Lena giggles.

"Even an Angel was human once," Baptiste snorts, amused. "And can be again; the mentality never leaves."

"It only gets better," Mercy agrees with a wink. "And trust me... Doctors have seen  _ everything _ ."

"It's a blessing and a curse," Baptiste sighs theatrically. Bastion whacks him upside the head. "Ow. Are you all seeing this? Domestic abuse!"

"Are you kidding?" Hana snickers. "Who  _ wouldn't _ want to be thrown around by a hunk like that?"

Bastion flushes scarlet while the others laugh, and there's a mild defensiveness in his expression when he signs something that makes Zenyatta and Baptiste laugh harder.

"What'd he say? I missed it!" Winston exclaims.

"He said Lucio is the loudest," Zenyatta grins.

"And he's not wrong," Baptiste cackles.

That send them all into peals of laughter and kickstarts stories of funny or embarrassing moments that people have shared with their loved ones, a conversation that lasts most of the trip. Only a few minutes after they settle into a companionable quiet, Jack pokes his head out of the cockpit, looking perfectly put together but for a new hickey visible just above his collar and slightly kiss-swollen lips.

"ETA ten minutes, soldiers; it's game time."

The door closes and everyone exchanges looks.

"Y' owe me twenty, Hana."

◁ ▷

Zenyatta doesn't believe in hell, but at the moment, he's starting to question that lack of belief.

A company of Vishkar soldiers was waiting for them, and Jack ordered him to call the dragon immediately, but the moment Shimada appeared, the soldiers regrouped and brought out two huge guns that fired crackling balls of light into the sky. Shimada made the mistake of clipping one with a wing and it exploded, engulfing the dragon in electricity. Shimada roared in pain and struggled to fly for several moments, and for a short bit, the dragon was grounded to avoid the balls.

Now that Winston and Hana's combined efforts have taken out one of the guns, cutting the danger by half, Shimada is back in the air, but the damage has already been done, and Overwatch is being pushed back toward the front lines of the main fight. Zenyatta and the other healers are struggling to keep up with the damage being done to their teammates and not even Bastion seems to be able to make a dent in the force of their attackers.

"We can't hold this line, Jack!" Gabriel shouts at him, grabbing a Vishkar soldier and throwing them off Jesse so he can shoot them, only for them to knock his gun aside and go at him with a hardlight sword.

"The Chinese forces are making progress on their end," Jack shouts back, firing a triplet of Helix rockets into a surge of soldiers heading for Mercy, who's in the process of healing Hana. "We  _ have _ to hold as long as possible to buy them time; catch!" Yanking a small canister from his bandolier, he chucks it at Gabriel, who catches it and slams it down on the ground while Jesse pushes the now dead soldier out of the circle of influence as healing magic seeps out of the canister.

Zenyatta takes note of the canister's use and recalculates his distribution of healing orbs. At this point in the battle, he can only afford to keep two out at a time, especially as the use of his destruction orbs drains a tiny fraction of his energy with every orb; a single one isn't noticeable, but after twenty, he can feel it, and he's used well over ten times that now.

Winston's shield recharge can no longer keep up with how fast it gets broken, and he's resorted to sweeping his Tesla cannon in arcs to keep the soldiers back; it's an effective barrier for the moment, but every time he has to reload, the soldiers sweep in again, and Lena's struggling to keep up, even with her blinks.

Baptiste can no longer create an amplification matrix because the projector for it was destroyed promptly after its first use, and he's running low on healing pellets. The four-use canister of aerosolised healing potion he keeps on his back for emergencies is already half used, and even as Zenyatta is assessing, he leaps back closer to Bastion and uses it again.

The return of a healing orb draws Zenyatta's attention to Hana, whose Mech crumbles and collapses beneath the wave of enemy fire, and she frantically sets it for self-destruct, launching it into the midst of the enemy even as she ejects and lands in a clumsy heap not far away. Zenyatta immediately runs to her side and reattaches a healing orb as he helps her to her feet.

"I- can't-" she pants heavily, leaning on him. "Four alr-already.... can't- anymore..."

"Alright, that is fine," Zenyatta assures, hiding the sinking dread in his gut as he realises the battle is lost; without Hana's Mech to draw fire and take the hits, and with Winston's shield down, they have no protection. "Commander! Hana is down; we are losing the line!"

"We have to hold!" Jack shouts, ducking behind cover and surveying his team, all of whom are turning at least a little attention to him. "We can do this; I believe in you!"

Any sense of determination he might have sparked in anyone is drowned out by the horror of seeing the enemy turning their electric light cannon toward Jack's cover. Lena shrieks, and Gabriel is already dropping his shotguns, darting toward Jack to get him out of the way, but everyone can see there's not enough time.

A thunderous explosion shakes the ground, and for a moment the fighting stops as both sides retreat reactively from the site of the explosion. As the dust clears, Overwatch fearing the worst, everyone is shocked to see Shimada on the ground in the middle of a small crater, and with Jack wrapped protectively in the dragon's talons.

"Jack!" Gabriel cries out, scrambling into the crater while Jack extracts himself painfully from Shimada's claws, coughing and holding his side.

Zenyatta doesn't see anyone else's reactions; he's staring at the dragon's head, willing it to move. Without realising it, he takes a step forward. Then another, and another, and then he's running. He bolts past Jack and Gabriel and leaps into the crater, tumbling down against Shimada's side and scrambling up to the dragon's head.

"Shimada..."

"Hey magician," the dragon breathes, peeling open one massive gold eye to look at him. "Is your commander alright?"

"You fool," Zenyatta chokes, touching the dragon's muzzle. "You could have died."

"I might still," Shimada admits quietly, shifting and growling a low whine of pain. "I can't move... Another hit like that and..."

"No. No, you will be fine," Zenyatta says sharply, refusing to believe he could lose someone so easily. "Just... hold still." Placing both hands on the dragon's head, he focuses, trying to pour whatever healing he has left into the beast.

"Zen... Zen, stop; you'll kill yourself trying to heal this form."

"I will not let you die, Shimada!" Zenyatta snaps at the dragon, unaware of the tears tracking streaks through the dirt on his face.

"...Then let me shift first," Shimada says lowly, a faint reluctance in his tone. With a pained grunt and a crackle of bone, the dragon's body begins to collapse into itself, pulling down, condensing; scales fusing into skin while horns and fur melt into hair. Growls and whimpers become less feral and more human, until at last a familiar figure slumps into Zenyatta's arms.

"...Sparrow...?"

“Actually, it’s Genji,” the young man smiles weakly, shivering against the cooler air on his naked body. “I... was going to tell you... when we got home... but I guess that’s not happening.”

“Genji?”

“My name. Genji Shimada.” He grimaces and clutches at his shoulder. “I’m sorry I kept it from you; I couldn’t risk people finding out I’m a dragon. I can’t protect myself in this form like I can in my true form.”

“You can hardly protect yourself as a dragon!” Zenyatta exclaims indignantly, holding him carefully.

“Zenyatta! Where’s Shimada?” Jack shouts from the edge of the crater. “They’re rallying!”

“He will be alright!” Zenyatta calls back.

“Zen,” Genji says, grabbing his hand.

“You will be alright,” Zenyatta repeats firmly, gathering his healing magic.

“No, Zen, save it for the others.” Genji hisses sharply, flinching viscerally. “I- I protected your commander for you; he’ll take care of you now.”

“No, Sparrow- Genji.”

“Relax, Zen,” he coughs, forcing a smile. “I did my job; that’s the best I could hope for. These people are your family; you belong here, and I have no doubt whatsoever that you’ll figure out how to make the most of your talents.”

“Genji, please...”

“I ju- just have one thing I need to say,” Genji bulls on. “Since I doubt I’ll get another chance...”

“No, Genji...!”

“I didn’t know what I was following when I felt your spirit, but I knew it was going to be important, and when I saw you for the first time, I knew right away...” His smile returns, weak and pained, but genuinely happy. “I was a moth, and you were my flame; I was going to stay as close to you as I possibly could, no matter how many times I got burned. Guess I didn’t count on burning off my wings.”

“Genji, stop,” Zenyatta gasps, fully aware now that he’s crying. “Please...”

“I love you,” Genji says sincerely, raising a hand to cup Zenyatta’s cheek. “I’m happy I could protect you.” Closing his eyes, he leans into Zenyatta, letting his hand fall.

“...Genji?” Zenyatta breathes, fearing the worst. “Genji? No, Genji, no!”

How much more must he suffer? The injustice of it infuriates him; how many lives will pointless war consume?

No more. Not on his watch.

“I will not let you die!” he bellows, holding Genji close. “This war is over, Genji; you will not die.  **I refuse!** ”

The fire in his veins turns outward, a flurry of magic that comes from nowhere and spreads like an explosion. A thunderclap of sound bursts, echoing across the battlefield and silencing all else.

Every eye is drawn to the golden glow, swirling with symbols incomprehensible to the average human and rimmed with threads of dark purple that weave an impenetrable barrier around the figures at the centre.

“Oh my...” Mercy breathes, amazed.

“No way,” Baptiste laughs, awed. “Goddess above...”

Genji groans against the stinging heat that sweeps through him, leaving a soothing warmth in its wake. Surprised to still be alive, he looks up, staring at the sight that greets him.

Zenyatta stares at his hands, all eight of them, stunned and disbelieving. Every part of him is lined with golden light, and deep purple threads hang between extra pairs of hands.

“Zen...” Genji breathes, a wide grin spreading across his face. “Your wings...”

“Wings?” Zenyatta twists sharply, trying to see behind himself, faltering when he sees the giant curling wisps of purple-veined gold, like some kind of ethereal fairy wing that spreads out as far from his back as he is tall. “I... have wings...”

“You’ve Ascended, Zenyatta!” Mercy cheers. “Welcome, brother!”

“Brother...?” It reminds him then, what the Archangel said. “ _ In irino omnae est unum _ ... Everything is one in the Iris...” Just as suddenly, it clicks, and everything makes sense.

Emboldened, Zenyatta offers a hand ― a flesh and blood hand ― to help Genji to his feet, grinning.

“I have not Ascended, because I am only half Angel,” he says, spreading the extra pairs of arms and beginning to weave the threads. “The other half is necromancer. Life and death, light and darkness. Just as you said, Shimada. And now I have transcended my previous existence.... Hm. Transcended. I like that.”

“Me too,” Genji chuckles, shifting and growing back into dragon form.

With the wave of a hand, Zenyatta disperses the threads of purple protecting them to give Genji room to finish shifting, and the massive golden glow fades, reducing to just Zenyatta’s body. Setting himself and tipping his head back, Genji unleashes a ferocious roar, and many soldiers, from both sides, drop their weapons and run.

“...I have so many questions,” Jack says when Zenyatta glides out of the crater. “I’ll save them until we’re back at the base.” Zenyatta laughs as he finishes weaving a sort of breastplate that he holds out to the commander.

“Try not to die, Commander,” he says. “We still need you.”

“Not as much as we need you, it seems,” Jack smirks, taking it and putting it on. The dark purple flares and then sinks into him, vanishing. “Impressive.”

“Even I do not want to deal with a bereft sergeant if you die, sir,” Zenyatta notes, already weaving something else.

“You overestimate my grief,” Gabriel humphs, scooping up his shotguns.

“May I?” Zenyatta asks, gesturing for the guns. Gabriel hesitates, glancing at Jack, who shrugs with a grin. Growling, the sergeant holds out his shotguns for Zenyatta to take. Instead of taking them, Zenyatta merely weaves the threads around the guns, encasing them completely, including Gabriel’s hands. Again, the purple flares and then vanishes. “Now you will not lose them.”

“What kind of magic is that?” Lena asks, blinking into existence next to them and staring in eager awe.

“A combination of the two most powerful magicks to ever exist,” Zenyatta hums, pulling together energy from within himself and separating it into gold and purple.

“The power to control death mixed with the blood of the Goddess,” Mercy hums. “Incredible.”

“Inconceivable, ya mean,” Jesse scoffs in amusement.

“Only to those who fear the unknown, my friend,” Zenyatta smiles, closing his hand on the Discord to banish it and pulling his orbs in to fill them with Harmony before sending one to each of his companions. “We are Overwatch; together, anything is possible.”


End file.
